Best of 2017

I proceed to give him an update of everything that has happened since I was last here. For some reason, I leave out the nightmares. I’m just not ready to tackles those yet when I have so many other issues going on. He listens with undivided attention. Once I’m done, he sets his notebook down and peers up at me.

“Let’s talk about Richard. Can you do that? Or do you need a minute?”

I consider what he’s asking of me. “I can do it.”

He lets out the breath he must have been holding as he waited for my answer, and then leans forward.

“You said Richard was your father’s best friend. Was he always a part of your life?”

“As far back as I can remember, it was Richard.” My heart thuds in my chest, but every time I feel myself falling, I concentrate on Dr. Montgomery’s broad shoulders that move slightly as he breathes and it anchors me.

“How so?”

“My mom . . . Well, let’s just say she didn’t handle Dad’s death well. Richard stepped up to help with me.” My voice is low.

He cocked his head. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on your mother a bit.”

A flash of grief rips through me. My mouth trembles as I speak. “She lost it. But this is the only way I know her. She’s always been this way to me. Does that make sense?”

“It does. What was your mom like? Before your dad’s accident.”

“People don’t really talk about that, but I saw pictures of my parents from before I was born and she looks like a totally different person. Her eyes were bright and she always had a smile. She was young, pretty. She looked carefree and in love.”

“And that’s not the mother you know?”

“Oh, God, no.” I shake my head vehemently. My mom has never been that mom to me. The tears I’ve been holding back force their way out at the thought.

Dr. Montgomery’s hand reaches out. When he speaks, his hand encases mine. “Tell me about the mom you know.” He gives my palm a squeeze and I look down at our connected hands. His grasp is strong. It comforts me. It gives me the reassurance I need.

Dr. Montgomery pulls away, and my body grows cold with the loss. I peer up at him and find his brow furrowed. “You can do it,” he encourages, while reclining back in his chair. With the new distance between us, I shift uncomfortably. Suddenly, I feel awkward.

“My mom . . . My mom is a hypochondriac. For as long as I can remember, she’s been popping pills for some imaginary ailment. She barely makes it out of bed half the time. She’s always ill. She doesn’t do anything for herself.” I let out a deep breath, my whole body shaking as I purge the memories from my mind.

“She gave up driving because she wouldn’t get in a car. She wouldn’t leave our house, so we never went anywhere. That’s why we moved to the city. When Richard found out, he made us give up our house and move to the vacant apartment near his.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Maybe. As I said before, I don’t remember much from my childhood.” Sometimes I thank God for that.

“What was she like once you moved to the city?”

“Richard hired us a full-time caregiver who also cleaned the house. She took care of me, and she took care of Mom.”

“What was her name?”

“Sonia.” My throat feels as if it’s closing up. I loved Sonia. She cared for me. Loved me. She was a mom to me.

“How long was Sonia with you?”

Not long enough. “Almost ten years, and then one day she wasn’t.”

“What happened?”

She left me. “She had to go back to Brazil because her mother got sick. It was a little shy of my thirteenth birthday.”

I still feel the pain from when she left. Sadness courses through my veins at the memory, like a caged animal threatening to break loose. A glossy sheen coats my skin. Every muscle feels tight, as if I’m cemented in place.

“It’s okay. Breathe.”

In. Out.

In. Out.

“She left right before my birthday. I remember because Mom was too “sick” to do anything special, but I could always count on Richard.”

“What did he do?”

“What didn’t he do? He was there for everything. As I said, Dad was his best friend. They grew up together. They were supposedly as close as brothers. When my father died, I became Richard’s surrogate daughter. Although he had been previously married, his wife never wanted children, and once they divorced he had no interest in remarrying, so mom and I were, for all intents and purpose, his family. He was the one with me when I broke my arm and had to go to the hospital, the one who came to the school for parent teacher meetings. He was the one who brought me medicine when I was sick, not Mom. She was too scared she’d catch something, so she stayed in the apartment, and if I was there she stayed in her room.” I clamp my lips together, but the sob breaks out anyway.

“I’m so sorry.” The blue of his gaze glistens with emotion, so sharp it sears me.

“It was exhausting. It is exhausting.”

“Do you need a minute?”

I shake my head. I need to get this over with. To tell him everything, expel it. Then it will be done.

“What is your relationship with her like now?”

“She needs me all the time. My phone rings all day, every day. A new ailment. A new diagnosis. A new second opinion.”

“So, basically you have become the mother?”

“Yes.”

“And who takes care of you?”

“Richard did.”

And with that, I let go. I let it all go. Every tear pours out with strangled breaths and a broken heart.

The tears of a child who grew up too fast.

The tears of an adult who lost too much.

CHAPTER TWELVE

PRESTON

SHE’S BROKEN, and all I want to do is mend her.

Each tear she sheds rips a little bit more of my already tattered soul. Hearing about her childhood is almost too much to bear. She’s lost, wandering alone in this world. I try to open my mouth to comfort her, but I remind myself I’m here to listen. Not to take her in my arms and hold her. But I want to. I want to tell her it will all be okay. That every bad thing that happened turned her into the amazing woman she is today. I don’t know her well, but I can already tell. She’s so much more than she lets on. So much more than she gives herself credit for. She’s strong and loyal, and she’s beautiful. Inside and out. I shouldn’t think these things. I shouldn’t look at her in this light, but I can’t help it.

As she tells me her story, foreign feelings invade my bloodstream. What type of mother would abandon her child like that? What kind of mother forces her child to be the parent? Sadness, outrage, and disapproval flows through me. Judgment clouds all reason, making me a completely biased voice. I’m judging this woman I don’t even know. Condemning her.

God, my head’s a mess. I can’t think things like this. I need to be impartial. But I’m so angry for her. I’m not objective and I shouldn’t continue to treat her. Hell, I’m not even sure I should be in the same room with her.

It takes every bit of my energy to not reach out for her. Not to grab her in my arms, pull her into me and never let her go. To tell her she’ll be okay and I would protect her. But instead, I straighten my back and tighten my jaw. She migh

t think I’m cold. I might seem stiff, but it’s the only way I know. It’s the only thing I can do to not comfort her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVE

I’M FREAKING TIRED.

So tired I can barely make out the words I’m typing on my keyboard.

Needing a pick-me-up, I head to the coffee room. Surprisingly, no one is in here, but I welcome the silence. As much I’ve always enjoyed the energy coursing through the office, my heart isn’t here anymore. These last few weeks, I’ve been coasting. Basically pretending to work as I attempt to keep my mind and emotions at bay. Thank God no one has asked what I’ve been up to because the answer would be nothing. I haven’t contacted any new leads. I haven’t called any of my clients. I’ve done nothing.

As the Keurig roars to life and steam from the machine fills the air, a presence looms behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Barry standing close. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Nope. Just grabbing coffee.”

The heat of his body tells me he’s standing too close. “Barry? Do you mind giving me some space?” He shuffles a step, but he’s still too close.

“So . . .” He leans in to speak and the closer he gets, the more I feel as if I’m being suffocated. “Did Richard ever tell you his partner’s name? Or better yet, has the lawyer for his estate contacted you?”

Even though I do know, I’m hesitant to tell anyone. It was bad enough for me to be Richard’s favorite, but if the staff knew my mom was the silent owner, it would make working here even more complicated. I don’t owe Barry an answer. The silent partner is a non-entity. Apart from providing capital, she has no interest in becoming involved.

“No, Barry. I don’t,” I manage, but the more we talk of Richard, the more my heart rate accelerates. Without saying another word, I jet down the hall and into the bathroom.

Once there, I throw myself into a stall and dry heave into the toilet. This is bad. So fucking bad. I swear I’m dying. This can’t be normal. It can’t. Pulse racing. Heart pounding. Sweat and dry heaves.